


Breathe You In

by starswan



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: And Stephen is sweating bullets, Cause fear can sometimes be a turn on, Emotional Sex, Facial Shaving, I am such Trash, Lost Hope, M/M, Self Control lost, The Gentleman takes a razor to Stephen's face, Whilst also being horribly attracted despite himself, fairy magic, naughty fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswan/pseuds/starswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to the JSMN Kinkmeme. </p><p>The Gentleman decides that he needs to do Stephen the particular favor of shaving him as a token of appreciation, in honor of his first ever service to him. It would be, after all, only fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was nearing dusk when Stephen Black finished putting away the silver. A handful of servants had abruptly put in their notice during the past couple of years which meant that many more tasks fell to harried, overworked Stephen. Rumours circulated that No. 9 Harley-street was haunted and so he had given up trying to hire new staff. They said it was the magician Norrell and his spell to resurrect Lady Pole that had done the trick. But Stephen knew better. Oh, yes. He knew all too well whose magic it really was…

 

Stephen shrugged off his sleeves and undid his apron with a mind to go to the kitchen and get some dinner. He splashed some water on his face and regarded himself in the mirror. Stephen sighed heavily. Apparently in all of the commotion of the day, he had neglected to shave when he awoke. Of all the mortifying encounters, errands, and suprises he had endured lately, this was by far the worst of them! Stephen had never neglected to shave a day in his life, just as he had never tied a sloppy bow, failed to cross a "t", or been inefficient in the performance of the least duty given to him!

 

Most vexatious of all, he had little time to eat as well as to shave before he was likely to be summoned by the tolling of the sad little bell. This sad little bell seemed to originate from somewhere around the northeast corner of the house. And it called him to the dance each night sometime after dusk.

 

Imagine what the Gentleman with the Thistle-Down hair would say! He who prided himself on his appearance and seemed to love Stephen all the more for his most excellent fastidiousness. No. It would not do for him to arrive at Lost Hope thus. Who knows but that he might become vexed with Stephen!

 

Stephen hurried down to the kitchens and bolted down some soup and bread much to the alarm of John Longridge, the cook. With watering eyes and a slightly scorched tongue, Stephen fled back to his room and began to tidy his appearance when the sad little bell tolled.

 

_Oh no! But I haven't even gotten around to shaving!_

 

Cursing himself for taking too long in changing his shirt, ironing the wrinkles out of his jacket, retying the laces on his breeches, etc, etc, Stephen decided to face the music. Literally in this case. He knew from experience that the bell would only grow louder and more insistent within his head if he delayed. And the Gentleman with the Thistle-Down hair found tardiness the very height of rudeness!

 

 _Perhaps the Gentleman will think this day's worth of growth some peculiar new fashion_. Stephen mused hopefully to himself.

 

Stephen climbed the all too familiar staircase and turned the handle on the all too familiar door leading to the ancient edifice that had lodged itself in and around Harley-street. Lost Hope. _Indeed_ , Stephen thought sullenly.

 

Expecting to see a dark wood on the other side, he was surprised to find in its place, the same queer, derelict little room where he had first met the Gentleman. To be honest though, the space on the other side of the door was about as changeable as the Gentleman himself. It was sometimes a room, other times a wood, and very occasionally a desert.

 

Stephen sucked in a breath when he saw who was standing in the middle of it.

 

"My dear Stephen! There you are!" cried the Gentleman in high spirits.

 

"Sir, I, that is to say. I must humbly apologize for…I regret to inform you that my appearance this evening is less than…"

 

The Gentleman waved his hands to stop Stephen from continuing.

 

"Do not concern yourself, Stephen. I dare say that it must be the most cruel situation in the world to be so beautiful and to have to do every little thing yourself. Why, you deserve so much more!"

 

"Thank you, sir?" Stephen was not sure what he ought to do next, but the Gentleman was fixing him with a most peculiar, almost predatory gaze.

 

"Therefore, I felt it only right that I do you a little service, as you yourself so graciously did me when we first met. Do you remember it, Stephen?"

 

Stephen did though he was distinctly uneasy about the "service" he was insinuating. Was he about to receive a razor of solid gold? Or perhaps one that sung or had a mind of its own? Such a thing would make his morning shave rather cumbersome.

 

The Gentleman moved a few paces toward Stephen and smiling, spoke in a voice that dared to be refused. “Come here, Stephen. Sit." He patted the seat of a wooden chair with a green velvet cushion and a high back of twisting, gnarled branches.

 

Stephen sat wearily, feigning ignorance. He watched as the Gentleman brought a bowl of warm water, a cloth, and a razor and set them down on a small table beside them.

 

"Sir. I am not sure I understand quite what it is that you wish to do for me, but I think this chair most inconvenient to the task."

 

"Why, Stephen. I mean to repay your particular service to me those many moons ago. I am going to give you a shave!" he declared excitedly.

 

"Oh!" said Stephen. "Do not put yourself to all the trouble, sir. I know that to do a servant's task would be, for… you..that is…I would not wish to cause…"

 

"Ssshhhhhhh." The Gentleman placed a hand at Stephen's mouth and caressed the side of his face with the other.

 

"I have gone to much trouble for you sake, dear Stephen, and would do yet more. You can scarcely conceive just how much!"

 

The effect of the Gentleman's touch was to physically soothe Stephen ever so slightly. He could feel his muscles trying to heed the Gentleman by uncoiling. But the thought of him applying a razor, and likely a rather unskilled one to his sensitive, bared flesh was still sending him into a mild panic.

 

Stephen closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe more slowly. He could feel his heart filling his ears with its rhythm as the Gentleman lathered his face excrutiatingly slowly with delicate strokes as if he were lovingly painting a portrait rather than preparing his skin for a sharp blade.

 

As he proceeded to lean over him with the razor curled in his long thin fingers, Stephen willed himself to look up at his face rather than sidelong at the blade. The Gentleman's facial expressions were every bit as mercurial as his temperament, but Stephen could not recall ever seeing him looking quite as he did now. So acutely focused. He tilted his elegant face to and fro assessingly, mouth parted as if to speak. _Or for a kiss_. His mind traitorously supplied. Those lips just grew closer and closer and Stephen wanted badly to look back down again but to do so would mean moving his head.

 

He felt his face burn and the skin on his arms grow prickly as the first touch of the razor gently scraped his skin. He heard the metal catch on the tiny hairs on his neck, felt as it followed the tender contour below his jaw and terminated in an upward flourish just shy of his chin. He exhaled in relief. Evidently, the Gentleman was at least capable of not cutting him even though his technique, he remarked to himself, was a bit uneven.

 

The Gentleman washed the razor and continued whilst Stephen gripped the edge of the chair, his palms growing sweaty. He was forced to watch the Gentleman at his work and could feel his breath on his face. He saw the shift in his lips into something resembling a satisfied smirk, watched as he appraised Stephen's face no doubt to an internal monologue of how handsome and noble he was. Then he made eye contact with Stephen for the first time in several minutes and Stephen felt a blush creep across the still lathered part of his cheeks and spread down his damp neck.

 

This was no longer vague terror, but acute embarrassment.

 

"Hmm. How to do this next part…" the Gentleman mused to no one in particular.

 

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

 

"Stephen. Shush. I am thinking."

 

The situation was about to get much worse than poor Stephen could have imagined for the Gentleman's solution to the problem of how to get closer to his face without the back and part of the side of the chair impeding him was…

 

….to straddle the chair which of course meant hovering over Stephen's lap.

 

Stephen wanted so badly to point this out, to offer a suggestion no matter how feeble, even possibly to beg that he didn't really need a proper shave after all, and couldn't they just cover his face with a mask?! But he dare not interrupt the Gentleman again.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen felt the press of his legs on either side of his thighs as the Gentleman inched forward. The chair was a trifle too low and the Gentleman had to bend a bit causing him to lean over Stephen repeatedly. He drew so much closer now than he had a few moments ago. Stephen was able to peruse his pale eyelashes, his ivory cheekbones.

 

The Gentleman carefully placed his tapered fingers with their long nails on the opposite cheek guiding him this way and that contemplatively while Stephen tried not to tremble. Stephen had always thought that he kept them too long, should probably trim them more regularly. It was an odd fashion to be sure. But these thoughts failed to occupy him. The proximity and the view proved too distracting. He felt himself more than ever drawn to the Gentleman's lips. They really were quite fine, from an objective standpoint, of course! Not too thin, nor overly voluptuous which can be either pleasing or a bit odd on a man depending.

 

When he touched the side of Stephen's face and carefully turned it to the side again before resuming, Stephen drew in a sharp breath. The Gentleman touched the razor to his cheek. Scritch scritch, swipe. Exhale. Repeat. A few more stress-layered minutes later and he switched to the other side without comment or seeming agitation. If only he could peer inside Stephen's skull at that moment and gaze at the stew of embarrassing thoughts there.

 

"Are you unwell, dear Stephen? You do look a bit paler than usual." the Gentleman perceived with genuine concern.

 

The sudden noise made Stephen jump causing the Gentleman to falter on his feet and to come down none too gently onto Stephen's lap. Fortunately the razor was angled away.

 

"Oh! This is much better!” cried the Gentleman pleased. “Leaning was getting a bit tiring, I have to say. And I do not think that I weigh so much as to make this…uncomfortable? Stephen?"

 

"N-no, sir. It's fine." Stephen lied completely baffled by the Gentleman's reaction. 

 

The Gentleman smiled the smile of a wolf.

 

As stone still as he had been before in anticipation of being cut, however accidentally, this was much much worse. Each inclination and shift the Gentleman made caused him to brush what was the most sensitive part of Stephen's anatomy. And pondering how similar fairy gentlemen _might_ be to humans, wondering if they responded in the same manner, was not helping at all. It was getting terribly difficult to breathe.

 

After suppressing his normal human fidgetings more than Stephen ever had cause to in his life, the Gentleman removed the blade for the final time and leaned over to the table before setting about patting his face dry with a towel. Stephen could in fact feel himself reacting subtly as the Gentleman’s fingers and thumbs embraced his nose, cheeks and the sides of his mouth over the cloth with an excess of care. But he prayed that it went unnoticed.

 

Meanwhile, the Gentleman seemed rather content to remain where he was, in minute appraisal of his job. He made slow work of peeling away the towel from his face.

 

"Well. How handsome you look now, Stephen! Not that you weren't already, quite, _attractive_." he said drawing out the last word quietly as he leaned forward and placed the littlest, lightest kiss to the corner of Stephen's mouth.

 

Such a tiny action and yet it completely unraveled whatever shred of control Stephen was desperately clinging to. He let slip a soft moan as more heat pooled in his groin and he felt his breeches tighten unmistakably, his erection pressing against the Gentleman's slender hips.

 

Stephen heard the Gentleman’s breath catch, braced himself for some exquisite punishment the likes of which he could scarcely imagine. But then he tensed above him and his voice came out as more of a raspy whisper than an authoritative rumble.

 

"Oh, Stephen…" he murmured cradling his face with his long, elegant fingers pulling their faces closer until their foreheads touched and he was all but panting against Stephen's lips.

 

“Yes.” Stephen answered between his breaths. The sight and feel of the Gentleman, so cool and measured before, now reduced to emotional ribbons sent tiny shocks across the surface of Stephen’s skin.

 

"I had no idea you found me so, alluring." The Gentleman croaked before slotting their lips together with an intensity that was startling. Stephen nearly swooned when the Gentleman rolled his hips pressing them together and he felt how aroused the Gentleman was, for _him_. He hesitantly ran his fingers through the mass of incredibly soft hair atop his head, gently grazing the Gentleman’s scalp with his fingertips which elicited a shuddering sigh, and then a growl. It reverberated in Stephen’s mouth and he felt an odd tingling sensation. His limbs felt pleasurably insubstantial like he was slowly crumbling into water.

 

Stephen grew more alert when something soft brushed his shoulder, pillows on a large expanse of bed in a warmly lit room. So intent had he been on the Gentleman's lips and tongue that he had not noticed this sudden removal.

 

The keening sounds that the Gentleman was making, the intensity of his caresses, the soft murmurings of Stephen’s name that sounded fond bordering on pained made his insides hurt. Stephen cupped the Gentleman’s face in his hands to recapture his lips.

 

They wound their legs together until they were spooned tightly. Stephen's nerves right down to his finger tips ached. His heart ached. His brain tried to switch on for a moment and he thought he might die from the longing he felt for the Gentleman. He was both terrified and enthralled by this turn of events. He had never properly acknowledged it before - so untamed, bittersweet, and slender. Not enough. It could never be enough.

 

So he clung to him half hoping to drown so that the time would never arrive when he would once again feel the enchantment weighing upon him. This new enchantment had lifted it with a sweep of its pale, fevered hand and replaced it with a searing brightness that threatened to burn him with every stroke.

 

The Gentleman ceased kissing him to run his fingers down his face and the collar of his shirt where he made fast and light work of his neckcloth, his coat, his shirt. His hand snaked down to his breeches, the top, the ties at the bottom and Stephen was carefully divested of the remainder of these physical barriers. Now painfully hard, he worked to disrobe the Gentleman of his coat and pants. He briefly reflected that it must be a magic trick, because the Gentleman was suddenly completely bare.

 

"Stephen…my Stephen…" he whispered intently stroking his face before threading his milk white limbs with Stephens richly dark ones.

 

Stephen shuddered. The Gentleman rested his lips on his cheek as he ground their hips together. His coolish skin now kindled to warmth as he wrapped one of Stephen's legs around his waist that they might be joined more firmly, and slid a hand to the small of Stephen’s back. The Gentleman luxuriated in the warm, swirling press of their thrusts , the feel of Stephen’s arms coiled about his neck and back, his barely contained cries of pleasure.

 

The Gentleman’s pace was as slow and measured as he could manage savoring each new delight, but Stephen could sense how desperate he was becoming for release. Stephen arched his hips slightly and cupped the Gentleman's buttocks as they slid their erections together in increased rapidity, hot and wet and teetering on the edge of oblivion.

 

He kissed Stephen’s mouth fiercely, felt his muscles tense before he spilled onto Stephen's stomach and groin in a frenzied muttering of his name. Breathing raggedly the Gentleman reached a hand in between Stephen’s legs to stroke him. He caressed the skin by Stephen's ear with his lips.

 

The Gentleman softly entreated him. The timber of his voice and the labors of his hand on him caused Stephen to thrust his hips unrestrainedly. And he felt himself empty onto the Gentleman's cool, pale fingers with a yell that was ripped from him.

 

Stephen felt delirious and shivery, unwilling to move when the Gentleman slipped to the side drawing the fingers of Stephen’s nearby hand to his lips. Stephen did not know whether to weep with excess of joy or sadness. He would hold onto his flame even if it burned him. The Gentleman leaned forward to leave a lingering kiss on Stephen’s lips. He squeezed his hand albeit weakly, and uttered in a coarse whisper, his eyes drifting closed.

 

"My beautiful, _perfect_ Stephen. Let us rest."

 

And with a drop of muted hope, Stephen gathered the Gentleman to him as the light dimmed around them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
